Loving the Bloody Demon
by Kitten825
Summary: Elizabeth Riley had always lived a normal life, but things change in an instant. When Eli causes something dreadful to occur, her life crumbles around her and it is revealed she wasn't so normal after all. Then, when she's almost lost it all, she dreams of Neverland, and she finds two things- answers, and demonic, nasty Peter Pan.
1. Chapter 1

So much had changed for me in an instant. A mere half an hour was all it had took. The fire had spread, and the beginning of the end of life as I knew it commenced.

It was September first the day she was buried. Three days after my world and my family's world had shattered.

It had been my fault, too, and I knew it.

The sun was shining softly, and small flecks of sunlight made it through the leaves, making small bright spots on the grass among the sea of shadows. It wasn't hot, but it was warm, as if the weather was attempting to comfort me. The soft breeze seemed to carry traces of my mother's soft, flowery perfume. It was too nice of a day, in my opinion. It should've been cold and grey, the way I was feeling. But Mom would've liked it. The cemetery was serene, and her casket was a dark walnut brown that was smooth and sophisticated. Not at all the way she was. There were flowers everywhere, and the only birds you could hear were the mourning doves, which was fitting. The casket was open, and Mom was looking perfect as a porcelain doll, and she was just as cold. Her dark hair fell in perfect curls, the way she always wished it would be, and her white with lavender floral designs dress was cut in an old-fashioned sort of way that was the definition of elegance and grace. Her hazel eyes were gracefully cosed, as if she was sleeping, and her make-up was flawless, making her look unreal, like an angel. Everyone who spoke told of how caring and loved she was, and the way she touched their lives and hearts.

I hated all of it.

No one would remember her like she really was. They made her out as a sophisticated saint, not as my mother. No one would remember the way we'd make faces at each other, or sing loud as we could to all the '80s songs on the radio. They wouldn't remember her as the person who encouraged violence in the car on the way to my sporting events, cheering far too loudly and often getting mouthy. They wouldn't remember the way we'd occasionally race to the car coming back from soccer practice, laughing hysterically. They'd remember her the way she lay in the casket; beautiful and unreal as porcelain, and just as cold and lifeless. But I was glad her death was sudden. If she had sowly whithered away in a hospital bed, painfully aware of what was happening, it would hurt so much worse.

A bubble of guilt rose up in my stomach; it was my fault she was this way. It was my fault there were people gathered here in this cemetery, most of which I've never seen a day before in my life, to mourn the loss of Christina Riley. They'd all miss her- Sweet and kind, with a great (and sometimes twisted) sense of humor. Hell, I'll even miss her angry rages.

She'd been there for me through thick and thin, sanity and insanity, sickness and health, and in the end, I killed her.

But worse than my pain was my sister's. Poor Rita.

Even now, during the beautiful service, I could feel her teary glare from across the cemetery. I didn't blame her for blaming me. I blamed me. I was the one at fault here. I deserved every bit of anger she had, and more. I deserved her mutinous glares, her heart-breaking silence, and the gut-wrenching blows she delivered me the night before. I deserved to die, like Mom had at my own hand.

Soon, the speakers were done saying their beautiful lies and ideals, and the casket was closed and slowly lowered into the ground. My grandparents, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister, and father stayed back with me, saying our final goodbyes and throwing a handful of dirt over the walnut casket.

It felt like they were burying my heart with her.

Rita was sobbing harder than ever, her hazel eyes puffy and red and her usually pale face an irritated pink with tears still trailing down it and onto her black lace dress. Somehow, even though she was a mess, my older sister still managed to look beautiful, the sunlight softly highlighting her golden brown curls. She reminded me of Mum.  
They closed up the hole, and my mother was buried beneath the soft dirt. I watched my grandmother lay orchids on the mound. They had been her favorite flower. And just then, it hit me like a ton of bricks;

She was really gone.

Stricken with grief, I numbly allowed my father to lead me to the car, where I gazed out the window in a daze. I felt someone plop down next to me, but I ignored the comforting hand on my shoulder and kept my eyes on the mounded dirt as we pulled out and away.  
As soon as we got home, well, back to my grandmother's house, I holed myself up in the guest room, curling up in a ball on the old bed as if to hold myself together. The hole in my chest didn't throb nearly as much when I hid like this. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend that she wasn't gone, I was still small, and it was her I was snuggled up against, not my body pillow.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

I thought things could never get worse after that, but life is_ full_ of unpleasant surprises.

I prepared for the worst the moment Dad opened the door to grandma's guest room, failed an attempt to hold back tears, and waved me into the familiar white-and-yellow kitchen my family was crowded into. Everyone took in a big breath, and I felt their glares on me as I pulled a chair aside to hide away from them in the corner. The rest of my family- excluding my father- followed Rita's suit of hating me and, when possible, avoiding me like the plague. Eventually they turned away from me, and the atmosphere became a little less icy as they focused their eyes on my father once more. I could tell he was going to read us _her_ will from the teary yet hopeful expressions on their faces. They yearned for something- perhaps a message, or memento- that was a small part of my mom to keep with them. And, all loathing for sappiness aside, I did too.  
Father read off the paper on the kitchen table- we're a very informal family- and I watched as messages of love were passed around, as well as mementos, and people who thought they had finally got composure broke down again. After a good fifteen minutes, I'd long since given up on watching. Their tears were meaningless and annoying. I had moved on from the second stage of grieving, the crying and desperate wishing, and frankly, I was irritated that they hadn't. Perhaps it made me look insensitive, but I wasn't going to waste my time reliving her death when I couldn't change a thing. I regret what I caused immensely, but I refuse to be a mushy, watery mess of tears like them. It wouldn't bring her back.  
Eventually, Father called my name. I had been dreading this moment, yet simultaneously been nervously but eagerly awaiting it. He began reading what my mother wrote. "To Elizabeth Lillian Riley, I leave a third of my wealth, a letter disclosed with these documents, and a necklace, also disclosed, in the hope that she finds who she is." Confused and numb, I walked up to him and accepted the paper and package Father thrust into my hands before returning to my seat, impatiently waiting for him to finish reading Mom's will.

After another long five minutes of waiting, the 'service' came to a long-awaited end, and I rushed back to the solitude of the guest room to read the letter and see the promised necklace. After the dark cedar door was closed and locked, I plopped on the old bed, package and document in hand. Unable to restrain myself any longer, I ripped open the orange folder and removed the lined paper that contained my mom's elegant script, written in her favorite purple pen. Excitedly, I began to read.  
_Elizabeth,_  
_You are one of my pride and joys. I had hoped to see the wonderful woman you would become, but if you are reading this, that is not the case. I love you dearly, and I hope you live the long, prosperous life you deserve._

I sneered at that, wondering if she'd still say that now.

_I have no doubt that you already know how much I love you. I didn't leave this behind to tell you something that has undoubtedly already been engraved deep in your mind. I wrote this to tell you something important. Your story did not begin with us._

_Wait, what!?_ I thought, reading the previous sentence again just to make sure my eyes hadn't deceived me. Eyebrows furrowed, I kept reading, confused as to what the cryptic sentence could mean.

_Elizabeth, I have no doubt you began reading this before you saw the necklace. Open the package._

I smiled; Mom knew me so well. Pulling the cream-colored strings, the brown paper fell away, exposing a black box with silver lining along the borders. I slid my fingers along the opening before carefully pulling it open, and then my eyes fell onto the necklace sitting on the navy, velvety cushion. It was a ebony locket in the shape of a small oval, with a lace-like pattern engraved in white-silver along the edges. In the middle, in calligraphy-like print, Lily Mills was engraved in the same moonlight-like color. It was simple but beautiful. Curious, I gently pried the cold metal open to see... two blank halves to the locket. Such a disappointment. But now I was confused. What did this all mean? I returned my eyes to the letter, searching Mom's classy cursive for answers.

_I suppose your story begins when I thought mine would end. Rita was one when I was first diagnosed with lung cancer. For six months, the doctors treated it, and we almost lost the fight. Their miracle treatment saved me. But it rendered me infertile, and I wasn't able to give lonely little Rita the sibling she so desperately needed. And then, your birth mother had you. August thirty-first, at eight o'clock, Regina Mills gave birth at Sacred Heart Hospital in Brooksville, Maine._

Setting down the paper gently, I let that new information sink in. I was adopted. Eventually, I gathered up the nerve to keep reading, wanting to know more of my story.

_Their were complications with your birth, and so the doctors had to take you away to a separate room. While they fixed you up, your mother left the hospital. A nurse had told her you didn't survive, and after leaving the nurse with the locket (she requested you be buried with it), she left, and so she wasn't there when you pulled through. And, looking for an addition to our family, we adopted you. They hadn't been able to find Regina Mills. It seemed, after having you, she vanished. But they kept the locket with you, and as your mother had desperately wanted you to have it, your father and I decided we'd give it to you. But you grew up so fast, and we wanted oh so badly to be your family, and so we delayed giving you the locket. However, in the end, it was proper for you to know the truth and receive what has been yours all along._

When I read that, the anger that had been slowly bubbling unnoticed in the pit of my stomach boiled over, and I threw the pretty black box that had been sitting in my lap at the light tan wall, hard. The satisfying crash it made brought a dark smile to my face even though my thoughts were an angry whirlwind. _How could they keep this from me? I deserved to know! It was _**_my_**_ life! I grew up, thinking that I was theirs, that I was a Riley, that you were my family- and it was a lie the whole time!?_ My mind raged, and more things such as picture frames and lampshades went flying across the room. Seething, I sat on the floor of the room with my back against the wall and arms crossed, the locket in my fist. Time went by, and my temper cooled, leaving me calm(ish). Sighing, I returned the the last phrases of the letter.

_Eli, your father and I love you very much, as much as we love our own child. We were selfish, and kept the truth a secret, but I hope that you find peace in the identity you make for yourself regardless of our mistake. I wish you luck in the next chapters of your life, and oh, how I wish I could be there with you._  
_Love,_  
_Mom_

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and let the letter fall out of my hands. My back slid slowly down the wall, and I ended up crumpled uncomfortably on the thin brown carpeting. I knew she hadn't meant to crush me as she had, or even for me to find out like this (or at all), but I did. And as much as I didn't want to, I already forgave her. I mean, she's gone, and it's my own fault. I'm obligated to forgive her. And I understand she regretted keeping it from me. And, after what I had done to her, the pain I felt was well-deserved.

But honestly, it still hurt like a bitch.

The feeling was like getting shot in the stomach, letting the wound become infected, and then letting someone poke their grubby fingers around in it. Overall, not the most pleasant sensation.

After sitting there for ages, hugging my knees to my chest, I grudgingly moved over to pick up my mess near the far wall. Once the room was back to its original state of destruction, I lay on the bed, turning the locket over and over in my hands, thinking. _I'm Lily Mills, then._ I sighed, reveling in the way it sounded. It fit a hell of a lot better than Elizabeth had, ever. My mind returned to reality, and I noticed a great deal of time had passed. The sun had long since set, and had stopped filtering through the window, leaving the tan walls of the room without light and me alone in the dark, save for the dim light on the bedside table to the left of the bed. Looking at the clock on the far mantle, I realized I hadn't left my room for four hours, and now at twelve the movement in the rest of the house had ceased, leaving me the only one awake. Getting up, I got ready for bed before padding back to the old mattress, climbing beneath the familiar tiger comforter and scratchy blue sheets. I fell asleep minutes later, locket still clenched in my fist.

All too soon, soft light was beaming through the window, and I threw back the covers, set my locket- which had nearly been lost in the sheets- on the bedside table and, after changing into presentable clothing, I joined the bustle of the rest of my family in the kitchen. My grandparents and father sat hunched over the kitchen table, speaking rapidly in hushed, panicked whispers. Confused and now worried, I spoke up. "Wh-what's going on?!" I asked. My father turned around to look at me, the now permanent sadness in his eyes clearly visible even across the room, and answered my question before burying his tired head in his hands.  
"Rita's gone."


	3. Chapter 3

I panted, running for the pale purple door at the other end of the room, trying to ignore the loud profanity screamed at me and the crash of glass as the bottles shatter next to me. _His aim is getting better, even if he is drunk off his ass,_ I think, as a beer bottle skimmed by me before breaking on the dirty grey wall. My run turning into a flat out sprint, I reached the door and push it open. After rushing into the tiny room, I slammed the flimsy wood shut and turned the rusted lock on the doorknob, breathing heavily. Sometimes I could hardly believe this was my father.  
After Rita left, things had steadily gone further downhill. Father and I found a run-down apartment complex at the edge of the city, and while the workers fixed up the left half of the house we were living there. Father couldn't handle Rita's flight away on top of mother's death, and so he had turned to alcohol. He wasn't the same under the influence; instead of the gentle man I grew up looking up to, he was angry and moody, and violent. Perhaps he wouldn't be this way if Rita had stayed, mourned with us instead of taking off.  
I sigh. There were several things that I regretted, and not finding a way to make peace with Rita was one of them. If I had, she wouldn't have taken off, and there wouldn't be a drunken man throwing bottles and yelling choice language in the other room. Sliding my back along the door, I sat with my knees cradled to my chest, absentmindedly turning the ebony and silver locket that hung around my neck over and over. I knew eventually he'd pass out, or drink till he couldn't form a coherent sentence, and I'd be able to sleep, but until then I'd have to make due with the loud crashes. Frowning when glass shattered loudly right on the door, I moved away and across the simple lavender room to the old rickety bed with plain white sheets. I turned on the dim lamp so the simple room wouldn't look as empty and dreary and grabbed my iPod from the short nightstand. Huffing at the incoherent babble father was making in the other room, I put in ear buds, closed my eyes and blasted The Eagles so I could pretend that my father was fine and dandy, and that I wouldn't have to clear a path through the mess to get ready for school tomorrow. Summer had, in my opinion, ended far too soon, and I already loathed the early mornings and vast amounts of papers and binders that high school brought. Eventually, the lyrics began to blur together and sound as if I was underwater, and then I lost consciousness, _Desperado_ still ringing in my ears.

_ I regained awareness a little while later, but, exhausted, I kept my eyes closed. I uncomfortably shifted, trying to find a suitable position. Although the bed in my apartment was no foam mattress, it shouldn't have been this lumpy, nor the sheets this dry and grainy...  
Even my semi-unconscious state of fatigue, I pieced together the puzzle; I wasn't in the tiny lavender bedroom of our apartment. __My once-heavy eyelids flew open with shock, and I sat up, allowing my shit-brown eyes scanned my surroundings.  
Yellow-brown sand stretched alongside dark waters that smelt of salt. There were slight waves, so small they barely broke the smooth surface, that reflected brief flashes of white-silver moonlight visible through heavy grey clouds. And, as I looked inwards to the land, I notice the rough sand incline slightly, climbing up a short hill where it mixed with dirt. Upon the hill, large full-leaved tropical trees cast long shadows to fall on the beach, further hiding the beach and it's waters from the moon's illumination. And, strangely enough, I got this feeling, as if I had been here before.  
Bored, I lay back down in the sand, looking up at the black sky. Even the stars were dimmer here, as if the whole island had a darkness to it. It was strange, and I couldn't look away."Well, this is unusual." A clear voice with a British accent rang out, snapping me out of my trance-like state. Startled, I sat up once more, looking for the source of the voice.  
I couldn't see anyone around me, but after a few moments of searching the trees, bordering hysteria, something caught my eye. While I couldn't see much due to the thick branches and almost pitch-black darkness, I could make out the contours of a broad-shouldered, lean but muscular figure. But the eyes of the figure stood out, which was odd, as it was dark, and I couldn't make out any other facial features. Still, despite it being illogical and seemingly impossible, the thin almond-shaped eyes with forest green irises stared at me, seeming like they were glowing through the darkness.  
I was taken aback, startled by their intense stare. When I still remained silent, the figure chuckled. "Oh, I'm sorry, I believe introductions are in order. I'm Peter, Peter Pan."_


	4. Chapter 4

_ It was then I realized I was dreaming; Peter Pan is just a fairy tale. Strangely enough, for the first time in what felt like ages, I hadn't dreamed of my personal hell. "Peter Pan?" I scoffed. He didn't look the part at all. This wasn't the cute little ginger, sprinkled with freckles in green tights and a green, feathered hat from the story. No, 'Peter' was tall with broad shoulders, and a lean, but muscular build. He had light brown hair that fell perfectly across his forehead, and his pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight. His ears stuck out slightly, but it was kinda cute. Instead of the ridiculous get-up of Disney's cartoon, he was adorned in a green shirt held together by poorly sewn stitches, olive-colored pants and a leather belt that holstered a dagger and roughly carved wooden pipes. But probably his best feature were those strangely familiar forest green eyes. Overall, much different (and much preferred) from Disney's version._

_ Pan frowned, somewhat deterred by my disbelief. "You don't believe me, do you." he half-asked, half-stated._

_ "Well, you are part of a fairy tale, and this is a dream, so do forgive me if I'm a little skeptic." I bit back at him._

_ "You disbelievers are all the same," he continued almost as if I'd never spoken. "Always looking for proof, for hard evidence guaranteeing success, before attempting anything." I cut him off, not wanting to hear such bull anymore._

_ "Well, do expect all of us to leap off a cliff with nothing but faith, trust, and pixie dust?" I argued. He seemed rather fond of that idea, and so I quickly attempted to dismiss it from his mind. "Never mind, then." I sighed._

_ "Hey, I never caught your name." he sort-of stated._

_ "That's because I never gave it." I smugly replied._

_ 'I should really have a little fun in this dream, seeing as it's a mildly pleasant break from an unpleasant reality.' I thought, enjoying my smart-ass remarks immensely._

_ "You know what? Take a gamble. Guess my name." I say, standing up and pacing around, mocking him. He sneered at me, but he had a teasing light in his eyes._

_ "I do love guessing games... Is your name Eliza?" He said, pacing with me._

_ "Nope." I said, popping the 'p'._

_ "Hmmmn... what about Alexandra?" He guessed once more._

_ "Guess again."_

_ "Rosanne." Ugh, no._

_ "Wrong again. One last shot." I say, a smile finding a way onto my face._

_ "...Evelyn." He guessed, honestly having no clue._

_ "Ooh, out of chances. Better luck next time." I said, sounding rather like a game show host._

_ "Well, seeing as I've got no more guesses, perhaps you should just give me your name." He said, and even though he lost the game, it seemed as if he was getting what he wanted anyway._

_ "Fine. For a well-played game, I award you my name and a one-time offer; spending my dream however you'd like." I play off my game show gig. "I go by... Eli." I state, somewhat dramatically. He half-laughs._

_ "Eli's no girl's name. What is it, really?"_

_ "Not telling!" I say, my voice sing-song. He raised an eyebrow and stopped his pacing._

_ "That's cheating." he said._

_ "It's not cheating! It's using all your options." I say, somewhat slyly._

_ "It's cheating. Don't you know? Cheaters never win." he insists once more._

_ "On the contrary, you still don't have my name- I think I win." I chuckle_

_ "Well, then I don't think the game is over. I'm checking in your __**gracious**__ offer- you have to play a game with me and the boys. My choice." I pretended to think his demand over, waiting for him to impatiently raise his eyebrows before 'reluctantly' agreeing._

_ "I guess I have to, seeing as I did award the offer... Besides, what could one game hurt?" He smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, and... malice?_

_That little game could do a lot of damage, believe it or not._

_ Pan grabbed my arm in a death grip and pulled me into the dark undergrowth, towing me behind him at an inhuman pace. I swear, I was hit in the face by about forty branches, and stubbed my toes several times on sharp rocks. 'Fuck this guy,' I thought. I was bruising, which was a strange thing to occur in one's dream._

_ Eventually, we skidded to a stop, which hurts like a bitch in bare feet. We were in a clearing lined by trees and thick bushes and packed full of figures of varying height and build in long, brown-and-green-patched hoods and pants, which I'm assuming were the Lost Boys. There was a roaring fire in the center of the clearing, and logs lay near the perimeter like benches. The tall trees blocked out the sky, and so the only light in the clearing was the fire, which flickered and illuminated the faces of the boys (who looked to be pre-teens and older. Much older than the Lost Boys were in Barrie's novel) in an amber hue. In an odd way, it was beautiful._

_ I felt their eyes on me, and I couldn't hep but feel semi-self-conscious. Peter was basically still in the condition he was on the beach, while I had so many tears in my Winnie the Pooh pajamas, scrapes on my knees and feet, and tons of leaves caught in my braid. I must've looked__** incredibly**__ impressive._

_ Peter suddenly whistled loudly at the figures, and they hurried into a messy line in front of him, giving him their complete, undivided attention. "Boys, this is Eli. She'll be playing a game with us tonight." He announced. The boys looked at each other and smiled maliciously- obviously knowing something I didn't. Pan began pacing in front of them, flaunting his higher standing among their ranks. When, once again, all eyes were on him, he stopped pacing around the middle of the line and looked over the bunch. "Well, what game do you want to play, boys?" He asked. The moment those words left his lips the hooded figures jumped about and yelled excitedly._

_ "Capture the Flag!_

_ "Target practice!"_

_ "Capture the Princess!"_

_Their loud yells crashed into my eardrums, and I was a little overwhelmed. Peter, however, seemed unaffected, and instead he quieted the boys with another whistle._

_ "Is that any way to act in front of a __**lady**__, boys?" He jokingly scolded them. I snorted at that, but 'casually' covered it up with a cough; I may be a girl, but there was no way in hell I was__** at all**__ like a lady. "Felix, what do you think?" Pan asked, looking at he tallest of the boys. The tall figure looked out from under his hood, cold blue eyes staring me down and long, matted blond hair fell into them. He had a square jaw, and were those feathers tied in his hair? He also had a scar- long and jagged- along the side of his right eye, making him even more imposing._

_ "I say we play a game of Manhunt." His low voice drawled slowly. The Lost Boys began loudly cheering at this, and I felt a trill of excitement as well. Pan smirked maliciously, obviously satisfied with his comrade's response._

_ "Better get running, Eli. You've got a half an hour head start." Pan said to me, smiling sadistically while the boys went to the back of the camp and prodded around in a large tree, emerging with lethal-looking clubs, swords and bows. Not needing to be told twice, but indeed questioning the situation, I turned back onto the path Pan brought me down and started running. "This is shaping up into one hell of a dream,' I thought. _

_ After I was a good distance down the trail, there was a fork in the path. Instead of following the familiar(ish) trail back to the beach, I turned down the trail on the right that veered off into a thicker part of the tropical foliage. Hearing faint hollering from the direction of camp, I picked up my pace, ignoring the thicker undergrowth whipping at my face, clothes and exposed arms. The trail curved slightly, and then more, until I know it's leading me in a semi circle, looping back in the direction of the Lost Boy's camp. Not wanting to leave the trail, I follow it further down, until it branches off once more. Taking the left trail, which was slightly overgrown, or well, more so, I once again sprint, not letting my heels touch the ground. The path grew muddy and soft, no longer the hard trail walked a thousand times. I was careful not to leave a trail, stepping into the ferns and bush-like plants growing alongside the Lost Boy's path and continuing to follow the muddy stretch of uncovered ground. _

_ The faint hollering grew closer, and now I was practically flying through the vegetation, not willing to lose this game or get caught by a whole bunch of boys with weapons. The trail was gradually broadening, and moments later the greenery stopped, and I stumbled out into a small clearing. Just as moist as the trail had been, the glade was thickly covered by tall weeds, and there was a tall, thick tree in the center with large, box-shaped objects hanging from it. It was too dark to see what they from where I stood, but as I drew closer and squinted through the blackness, I could see that they were cages, barred by bamboo-like sticks and held together by well-knotted rope. The door was closed, held to the frame of the cage wall by another rope. And, seeing these, I had a brilliant idea._

_ I walked up to the strangely 'decorated' tree, frowning when I saw the lowest branch was just out of my reach. "I fucking hate being short!" I whispered angrily. Reaching up and springing myself up as far as my legs would propel me, I was able to grab the branch. Ignoring the rough bite of the bark against my hands, I pulled upwards while scaling the lower part of the tree, making my way up until I was able to swing one leg over said branch. I sat there for a second, giving my arms a break before continuing my climb._

_ About five minutes later, I was far enough from the ground that I was sure the boys wouldn't be able to distinguish my figure in my intended hiding spot, and I was fucking terrified. And it was exhilarating. Inching along the branch my game-winning idea was hung from, I had to bite my lip to keep from hysterically giggling. They'd never find me in there._

_ Eventually my fingers found the knotted rope that tethered the cage to the tree. Smiling, I reached down and held the rope, before cautiously swinging my legs down off the branch and around the rope as well. Careful not to look down, I began sliding down the rope like I had in gym so many times. Lucky this was just a dream, because if I were really in such a position, I'd probably be freaking out on the third lowest branch._

_ The animal-like calling of the Lost Boys was drawing even nearer, and I picked up the pace, finally feeling my toes touch the weathered wood of the top of the cage. Not wanting to unbalance the cage, I gently eased my weight onto it, gradually sitting on top of it. Re-positioning myself so I was laying on my stomach, I felt down the side of the barred box, searching for the tie that held the door shut. After a few moments of searching, I felt the familiar texture of rough, dry rope. I ran my fingers along it until I found the large, lumpy knot that held the rope in place. With difficulty, I began unwinding the knot, which was rather painful with my tired hands. Whoever tied the damn knot must've been a fucking sailor or some shit._

_ Some time later, the boys' calling must've been coming down the path leading to the clearing, and the knot had finally become loose, awkwardly bent rope in my hand. I pocketed it, needing it for closing the cage once more. The wood creaked as I opened the door, and the cage began shaking slightly, the balance displaced. Gripping the edges of the cage so tightly my knuckles turned white, I tightly closed my eyes and waited for it to fall still before I attempted probably the worst stunt I'd ever pull._

_ Finally, the cage was still once more. __**Really**__ fucking anxious and petrified, I whimpered as I swung my legs off the top of the cage and into open air. I let go with one hand, re-positioning the other so I my legs were able to reach inside. Pulling my knees up towards the roof of the cage, I slid the lower half of my body into the box, breathing panicked and uneven. "I can do this, I can do this, I can do this..." I muttered under my breath, egging myself on. I can feel my fingers starting to go numb from gripping the bars so hard, and my palms are sticky and sweaty. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit..." I mumble, moving one hand away from the bar on the edge of the tiny prison and onto one inside. The cage shifts, moving because my weight had, and I am nearly dumped out towards the mud at least forty feet beneath me. Almost crying, I relocate my other hand as well, before leaning forward so all my weight fell on the far wall of my 'brilliant idea' for a hiding spot. I grab the door and shut it as quietly as possible before re-tethering the door to the bar on the corner of the cage. Moving to the center of the floor, my hiding spot swayed for a few moments before falling still._

_ And just in time, too. The boys' loud calling resounded through the air, and the tall boy- Felix, was it?- led them into the glade. "Are you sure this is where she went?" A shorter boy in an olive-colored hood asked._

_ "This is where Pan said she went, so she is here." Felix drawled, sure of himself. Immediately, the boys filtered in and began searching the clearing's overgrown plant life for any sign of me. I barely dared to breathe; How did Pan know where I was? He was rapidly becoming someone I wasn't too fond of. He had the fastest mood swing I've ever seen- one moment we're just playing around, next he's sending me out in the jungle to be hunted down by his little friends with pointy sticks, and frankly, I didn't like it. And the control he had over the boys was oddly strong, almost as if they were brainwashed. So, yeah, I didn't want to be in his company anytime soon._

_ "Ingenious spot, Eli. They'd never have found you." A familiar British voice called out from above me. Reluctantly, I peered up through the bamboo-like bars that were the roof of the cage. On the branch supporting the cage, a broad-shouldered figure lounged, peering at me with glowing green eyes._  
_ "Fuck." I whispered._

_ Moments later, my wrists were tied and the Lost Boys were dragging me back to camp, weapons pointed at me to ensure I wouldn't run, all because I lost a rigged game. Pan was a fucking cheater, regardless of what he said. I was really hating him at the moment, and the boy who kept poking me in the back with a spear, or whatever it was. And all I could do was walk with them, positively seething and a little frightened; what would they do to me? "Our prisoner's a sore loser, boys!" Pan announced. All around me I heard their dark chuckling, and I looked down at my feet, snarling. Prisoner? Honestly, if my hands weren't tied, I'd be fucking up his pretty little face._

_ In about ten minutes, we were back at camp, and the little beasts were shrieking in victory. Because that game was incredibly fair, them having the home advantage and their leader being able to use magic and all. Ugh, why wouldn't I just wake up?! This was some bullshit._

_ Anyway, Pan sat me down on a 'bench', kneeling so as to look me in the eyes. "I think, as you are our prisoner, you ought to surrender your name." He said. I turned away, refusing to say anything. There was no way I was losing the game now. "Have it your way." he sighed, standing up and walking away, leaving my wrists tied, the asshole. Across the Lost Boys' clearing, he was sitting on his own log, poised as if it were a throne, a roughly carved wooden pipe in his hands. At the sight of the pipe, the boys eagerly rushed to the back tree, leaving behind their weapons and emerging instead with wooden sticks. I guess it was hollowed out to hold the Lost Boys' things. A little quizzical, I watched as Pan raised the pipes to his lips.  
A woodsy, enchanting melody washed over me, and I felt __**horrible**__. That same terrible, devastating sadness I had felt when Mom passed away, the deep self-loathing I had when I knew it was my fault, the betrayal of having a fabricated life, and the lonely, lost feeling I had when I realized no one loved me anymore all crashed over me at once, and then lifted. For once, I felt unburdened, giddy, and positively __**free**__! Fighting an overwhelming urge to get up, I observed as the boys hopped around the fire wildly, bashing the sticks together (so that's what they were for!) and circling about, over and over as if they had lost control of themselves. It seemed the moment he put those pipes to his lips the boys were under his spell. Watching them was mesmerizing, and every moment I was sitting here was agony, when all I wanted to do was get up and dance with them. I would've, too, had I not seen the dark satisfaction in Pan's eyes._

_Losing control was what he wanted._

_I didn't care if this was just a dream anymore. I wanted out, and away from the green-eyed boy. Away from armed teenagers that probably would kill me if Pan asked them to. And most definitely away from the relieving but terribly sad music that flooded my ears. Unable to stay in camp any longer, I got to my feet and took off sprinting, regardless of my aching limbs and restrained hands.  
I raced down the path I assumed would lead me to the beach, my feet pounding against the dry dirt. In some time, the hard dirt was mixed with rough sand, and I stubbed my toes less frequently on tree roots. I could even smell salt, and the air was cooler, but I could still hear the melody, crisp and clear. I tried covering my ears, but that doesn't work well when one's hands are tied. Even when I crashed through the border of trees, the haunting music played on, leaving me suffering.  
At the edge of the beach, I could hear it, calling me back into the jungle. I looked out at the dark ocean, trying to focus on something other than the pull. The frigid water lapped at my feet, and I was chilled. Frowning down at my offender, I was startled by a silvery reflection on the otherwise black surface. Looking closer, I saw my own familiar features, but it was like I was made of starlight; I was a faint, almost transparent white-silver, glimmering like the stars twinkle. How strange. But then again, this whole dream was incredibly odd, and the fun I'd promised myself was tainted.  
Sighing, I look down at the ropes at my wrists, unsure as to how to get them off. It was knotted well, and there no way I'd be able to untie it. But as I struggled against them, I notice I have wiggle room. Flexing my hands apart, I start to pull my left hand up and out of the loop, but it hurts too much. Flexing repeatedly to stretch the rope, I try again. The bottom half of my hand comes out with very little resistance, but I can't seem to manage to get the rope up past my thumb. Wincing, I tug over and over, until the rest of my hand slips out with a great deal of pain, and I am able to throw the rest of the restraints at the water, losing it in the black depths. Moving my hands around, I attempt to get the circulation back in my fingers, happy to finally be free(ish).  
That is, until I hear the little beasts calling again, and I notice the pipe has quieted to a mere whisper in the back of my mind. Shit; they're coming for 'their prisoner'. Again.  
Taking off down the beach, I could make out their rustling in the undergrowth nearby. Seeing varieties of green and brown hoods emerging from the vegetation, I changed course, heading instead towards the incredibly cold ocean. There was no way in hell I was going back there. Soon, I was wading into sea, moving much slower than the boys were, racing down the beach and towards the black water.  
I realized too late I was making a huge mistake; these waters could have underlying currents that could pull me under, and if I changed course again I'd surely be caught. And what was that superstition- Die in a dream, die in reality? Silently cursing myself, I ducked beneath the freezing water in the shallows and swam along the side of the island, hoping to stay out of reach of both currents and Lost Boys._

_It didn't work._

_ I was blindly swimming, not wanting to get the salty water in my eyes. I guess I surfaced too close to shore, because someone grabbed my head and began towing me ashore by it. Struggling although it hurt like a bitch, I was dragged ashore, where I was immediately re-bound. Would this dream ever end?  
Felix smugly stood over me, swinging his heavy, bloodstained club about threateningly. "Good work, boys. Pan was most upset when our prisoner escaped." He drawled. The beasts smiled at each other before, yet again, pushing me back to camp, cold and drenched, weapons aimed at me the whole way.  
When we reached the camp again, Pan was standing with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, obviously awaiting the return of the boys and I. Seeing us, he smirks smugly as Felix had. "I am __**so**__ revoking that dream pass. You're a dick and your games are no fun." I complain, trying to disguise how terrified I was. Pan merely ignored me, looking over into the mass of Lost Boys behind me.  
"Who is responsible for the recapture of our prisoner?" He said, surveying the crowd. Felix shoved a scrawny boy out in front of their mass, presenting him to Pan.  
"Claws pulled her out of the water. He is responsible." Felix explained in his deep, slurred voice. Pan smiled at the somewhat cowering boy before walking over and clapping him on the back like an old pal. Claws, I guess he was called, smiled from under his too-big cloak, proud of himself and happy to please Pan.  
"I ought to reward you for your skill. Claws, you'll do the honor of punishing dear Eli for her escape attempt." Pan said with grandeur. I swallowed nervously, watching as Felix went back to their tree and returned with a black, heavy-looking crossbow in his hand. Before I had the chance to take off, I was pushed up against one of the many trees lining the camp. Claws walked to a spot about ten yards away from my tree before aiming the crossbow right at me. I could feel my heart beating about a mile a minute in my chest, and it was like I was watching the incident happen, unable to move. He let the arrow fly, and I could see it rapidly making its way towards me, but it seemed as if I were paralyzed. Time seemingly slowed down, making every second agony. At the last moment, I finally regained my senses and turned away, hearing the arrow lodge itself into the wood behind me. And then, everything went black._

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my OC and any unrecognizable pieces of the plot.


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